


Pancakes

by elenawrites



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Fluff and Angst, M/M, Memories, Pensieves, Post-War, Raising Scorpius
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-24
Updated: 2016-06-24
Packaged: 2018-07-18 00:22:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,523
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7292104
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elenawrites/pseuds/elenawrites
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Draco looks back on a particularly good morning with his family.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pancakes

“Dad.  _ Dad. _ ”

Draco groaned and rolled on his back, instantly missing the warmth of his husband against his chest. He turned his head to the side, jumping slightly at the small face inches from his own. 

“Dad. I’m hungry,” the little boy said, poking Draco’s nose before struggling to lift himself onto the bed. Draco helped him up, gently setting him on top of the sleeping man next to him. 

“Bother another dad, Scor. I’m still asleep”

Scorpius frowned. “No, you’re not. Your eyes are open.” 

Draco made a show of shutting his eyes and faced the body next to him. “Harry.” He nudged him slightly. “Harry, your son is awake again at this ungodly hour.”

“He’s your son too, love,” came Harry’s sleepy voice, and Draco could feel Harry shifting next to him. “Morning.” 

Draco opened his eyes and smiled as Harry kissed his cheek, thinking that it wasn’t so bad to be awake now. He slipped an arm around Harry’s waist, jostling Scorpius from his place above them.

“Dad!”

Harry turned again and grinned up at Scorpius. “So what’re you doing up?”

Scorpius huffed and pushed his blond mop of hair away from his face. Draco’s heart gave a little leap as he realized Scorpius was mirroring Harry’s habits. 

“I’m hungry, so, so hungry, and I really want pancakes. Really,  _ really, _ Dad.”

Harry laughed. “I see.”

“Also, I want to help. You should teach me to make them.” 

Harry sat up, scooping Scorpius into his arms and kissing the top of his head. “You have an awful lot of demands, but I think we can make this work.”

Draco smiled at the sight of Scorpius’ face lighting up and groaned as he sat up with them. He helped Scorpius down from the bed. His hand was grabbed by the small boy as Scorpius led the three of them down the hall, slippered feet padding into the kitchen. 

“Harry,” Draco whispered as Harry pulled a chair up to the counter for Scorpius. “He’s four; should you really teach him how to use the stove?”

Harry turned and grinned giddily, making Draco want to smile back even though this was a valid concern.

“Don’t be silly. We’ll be very careful.” Harry lifted Scorpius onto his chair and faced Draco again. “Won’t this be fun? We’re such wonderful parents- _ wait,  _ Draco, where’re you going?”

Draco had stepped back to sit at the table, sighing and shaking his head in resignation. He was going to watch this mess from a safe distance, thanks very much, because after being in classes with Seamus Finnigan for eight years, Draco knew how disastrous children and fire could be.

"I'll be right here waiting to douse you both with water when the burner explodes, alright love?” 

Harry just smiled and shrugged. 

Of course, being the responsible one was a good reason for him not to participate, Draco thought, but really he just wanted to sit back and watch his son and husband bond, even if something did start burning. Draco loved those kinds of moments (the bonding, not burning). They were just another reminder of how his life had changed for the better, how he had people who loved him more than anything in the world. Everything was worth it with those kinds of moments to look back on. 

By now, Harry had memorized Scorpius’ favorite pancake recipe, and he was beginning their cooking lesson with a review of each ingredient. Draco had to hold in his laughter at Scorpius and Harry’s commentary at each one.

"No, this isn't like  _ flowers _ , Scorpius, this is called  _ flour _ ; you put it in the food," Harry was saying, tearing the bag open a little too forcefully and effectively dusting everything around him in white powder. “Oh, sh-”

Scorpius giggled, rubbing the flour from his pajamas and attempting to wipe it off Harry’s glasses. The kitchen and both of its chefs had quickly turned into a mess.

Draco thought they were beautiful. 

He was memorizing every moment, from Scorpius’ laughter to Harry’s gray-looking hair, tucking each sight away carefully so he could hold onto the memory later.

Harry had dusted most of the flour away, and was now pouring dark liquid into a spoon above the sink. “See, Scor, the vanilla smells really good, but- no,  _ don’t taste it!” _

Draco had an extremely difficult time trying not to dissolve into laughter at Scorpius’ face then, screwed up and spluttering at the off-putting taste. Harry looked back at him, trying to chastise but also having trouble hiding his amusement.

“Yeah, it tastes bad, but we put it in here with all the other ingredients and then it makes everything better," Harry said, handing Scorpius a cup of water to rinse his mouth. “Next item, then.”

Harry held out a carton, then handed Scorpius a smooth, white egg. “You can crack it, Scor,” he said, miming the gesture. “But you also can't eat this until it's cooked, okay?"

Scorpius nodded vigorously, clearly having learned his lesson. 

As the batter was finished, they moved spoonfuls of it onto the pan, and Draco sat up a little more to observe them with the stove. The last thing he wanted was for someone to get hurt, and considering Harry wasn’t the most, well, cautious at times.…

He needn’t have worried, though, Draco realized when he saw how attentive and gentle Harry was with their son. It wasn’t like he had expected him to act recklessly, but usually it was Draco who kept everything together like this.

“Alright now, you can’t touch the pan, Scorpius; it’s very,  _ very _ hot,” Harry said, turning the heat up more. He looked back at Draco, flashing him a sly grin and muttering, “not as hot as me, of course, but hot enough.”

Draco nearly spat out his coffee. He could feel his ears turning pink and his face heating up because  _ Merlin, it was too early for this.  _

Harry just laughed and ducked down to kiss Draco’s cheek before turning his attention back to the task at hand. Draco watched as he expertly flipped the pancakes, which came out smooth and golden brown, much to Scorpius’ delight. 

“Look, Dad, look!” he crowed, hopping slightly in his chair, “I can make pancakes!”

Draco was definitely looking. He smiled at Scorpius, who was still hopping, and wondered just how he had become so lucky as to have such a beautiful family- Harry with his scruff and bedhead (which was admittedly very hot) and warm smile that seemed to glow in the morning sun; Scorpius with his laughter and and joy at the simplest of things. 

Draco’s grin felt like it would split his face. At this moment it was too hard to keep in. At this moment, he felt everything he thought was gone from his life for good because of the war. He was happy, head-over-heels in love with Harry and their life and Scorpius, and he was going to hold this moment close forever. 

_ Merlin, he was turning into a sap. Into Harry, almost. _

Draco didn’t care if it was sappy. It was the truth.

“Draco? The food’s ready.”

Draco shook himself out of this thoughts, looking up to see Harry holding a plate of pancakes and smiling at him.

Scorpius slid into the chair next to Draco, already eyeing the small stack on his plate. “Did you know that flour is different than flowers?”

“I did, in fact. I’m glad you’ve learned, though,” he said, leaning over to wipe a stray stain of batter from Scorpius’ shoulder, however it had gotten there. 

He glanced up to find Harry watching them, smiling as he reached for Draco’s hand under the table. Draco held it tightly, running his thumb along Harry’s smooth skin when-

Draco stands up suddenly.

_ Every time. _

The pensieve, water glassy and mirror-like, sits on the desk, mocking him.

It happens  _ every damn time.  _ Every time it ends and he is pulled back into this world of gray, no longer admiring his family around the breakfast table, no longer holding Harry’s hand. 

Nothing. 

The afterglow of the scene fades, and Draco is faced with dozens of pearly threads, memories, each one just  _ begging _ to be selected. 

Instead of watching one of these, Draco draws his wand up to his temple, extracting a different  memory. A new one, something he hasn’t viewed thousands of times over, just one more that will be added to the growing sea of memories that he’s recalled once too many times for it to feel real. 

He doesn’t care that this one will soon become old like the rest, that it might drive him mad one day, seeing so many of these memories and not creating real ones.

He doesn’t care because he just needs to remember it, to feel again, if only for a few fleeting minutes. 

He doesn’t care because staying with these old memories will keep him from _out_ _there,_ where he fears he might lose it completely _._

_ Out there _ with the two headstones, one that reads  _ Harry, _ and one that reads  _ Scorpius. _

Draco takes a deep breath and plunges back into the pensieve. 

**Author's Note:**

> thank you to decanthrope on tumblr for letting me use that sad ending
> 
> Feedback is always appreciated! Thanks for reading!


End file.
